


words between us

by Emeka



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Father/Son Incest, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 18:28:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17647679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: Too late to be a father. Too late to have any right.He can't even be worthy of the title.





	words between us

Neither of them say a word about it to each other, although in his mind, he has gone in circles over the subject.

Why had he done that stupid thing, to start.

Had it been that Lloyd looked so much like Anna, more on that soft snowy night than he ever had before? Was it the threat of loneliness inside Kratos finally breaking, seeking any sort of outside warmth? Not that it really matters... in the end.

A man grown (and o how old he is) should know how to control himself. From the moment his lips pressed his son's, there had really been no excuse, because he couldn't even stop at what might have been construed as a fatherly peck. Every second he knew to stop, though Lloyd's mouth opened to his and that for reasons easier to excuse--all of this has undoubtedly been more stressful on him, and while Kratos has had his son in his heart all these years, Lloyd cannot possibly see him the same way so soon, if ever. 

He has grown up calling another man 'Dad'. The matter of their blood relationship may only seem a technicality. It's what Kratos thinks to save his son from guilt in his mind even as he keeps kissing him, because while he can stop, definitely _should_ stop, he does not want to.

Somehow, he is so warm.

Neither of them could look directly at each other afterwards, although he feels their embarrassment comes from different places. Lloyd smiled to himself, the tops of his cheeks flush with color. His first kiss, maybe, as discomforting as the thought is.

Later Kratos sent his locket along to him, with Noishe. He hoped it might stirr something in him. Look, here I am, your father by blood if nothing else, your mother, and you our child cradled between us.

Lloyd still goes to him again. There is nothing so obvious as tears in his eyes, but the tension in his entire body is unavoidable. Whatever he might have thought about Zelos (Kratos does not presume to know) he is struggling. 

So he is still for the first kiss, pulling stiffly upright against the arms thrown desperately around his neck, half-wanting to give in, half- to leave, all-despairing. The locket is between them.

His lips mouth, sorry, Anna.

Lloyd's inexperienced teeth bump against his. He doesn't know how to use them yet. Kratos isn't sure whether even he does anymore.

He gives in slowly, riding out Lloyd's impatience until he matches his pace. When he dares--slowly--to place his hands on his waist, he can feel him quiver. Nerves. Excitement? Sorrow? Anger?

They don't talk about it. Right now it would bring up too much else. 

His feet step back one by one, Lloyd's following, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He leads him down with him, sitting him on his lap. Just like when he was a baby, his delightful mind provides, before he shuts it off.

It's too late for him to be a father. But he can do this much, if Lloyd needs it.

His hand ghosts over the front of his son's pants; son is hard, jerks a little, but does not rebuke him. Is it really alright? Are you truly certain? he wants to ask, but Lloyd's hands are already on his face, and his mouth, his mouth--

he can't help but to lean into it and the promises he wants to see. 

With the lure of love, of his son, it's easy enough to rub his palm against a firm stretch of cloth, in time with (Lloyd's hips) its undulations. Easy enough to almost relax and breathe, when Lloyd is sustaining him with his pants and groans. 

Kratos can, does, follow the build-up of tension in his body. Lloyd is so open with himself it'd be difficult not to. Even his fingers are digging in wherever they land, and when the tension finally breaks, his entire body stutters against him and holds. The pressure almost hurts. What a strong man his son is becoming.

Then it all drains out of him, all of whatever he's been holding up inside, and he nuzzles his face into the side of his neck. Kratos rubs his back with his other hand. Ribs expand and contract beneath his splayed fingers with each breath.

Still there's nothing to say, and Lloyd quickly falls asleep on him. He wonders whether this will keep up, how much longer they can go like this. All the doubts come rushing back, and again he thinks of Anna. She would hate him for this.

But he has been absent so long, and if there is something Lloyd will take from him alone, he will give it. Even just a physical release from his stress. And later... after all this is settled enough away... maybe by then he'll find the words he wants to say.


End file.
